Not Tonight
by rebelxxwaltz
Summary: Six months after Vic leaves Absaroka County without a word of warning, Walt encounters a familiar face at a law enforcement conference. Post S4, some spoilers. Birthday fic for Hesrocks! Walt/Vic.


Dropping by with this short story, a birthday present for my incomparable #walnut friend, Hesrocks! Happy birthday, you cuter! xoxo :-*

This was another prompt fic, with the prompt having been chosen ahead of time by the birthday girl. The guidelines were: Walt is drunk, for whatever reason, and Vic has to come and get him. A classic scenario if there ever was one!

It was a pretty broad request, and could have gone a lot of different ways. My answer ended up being post S4, so there may be some spoilers. It was meant to be less than 2000 words, but I went a bit over. Oopsie! Hopefully nobody will mind.

Warning for a smidge of mature content. It's a fic by me, so... well. You know the drill. :D

* * *

 ** _Not Tonight_**

"Man, I hate these conferences. Who wants to sit in a room with ugly curtains while some overeducated twerp tells you a bunch of shit you already knew?"

Walt didn't like conferences either, but after two incidents of violence at his home and the mercifully fleeting black mark of the wrongful death suit his higher-ups in Absaroka County had deemed it necessary that he follow a more traditional training regimen. With the shattered remnants of his department strewn around him, he was probably lucky to still have a job. Ironically, of all the things Walt had lost, his position as sheriff was the one he would have been most willing to sacrifice.

"Oh well. Guess we should look on the bright side. This shindig was in Cheyenne last year. At least Jackson has some half-decent drinking spots. Plus I heard the new ballistics instructor is a bit of a hot piece. Small mercies, eh?" The Converse County Sheriff's elbow nudged against Walt's bicep in a conspiratorially masculine way.

He pulled at the collar of his uniform shirt, another compromise with the mayor and the board concerning Walt's willingness to demonstrate transparency and professionalism. At least they'd let him stick to jeans— he'd be happy if those stiff khaki dress pants never again saw the light of day. As for the comments regarding the female instructor? The prospect did little to brighten his outlook. There was only one woman Walt ever thought about anymore, and she had walked out of his life to who knows where without a backward glance.

It was his fault, he knew that. He had pushed Vic away out of some warped sense of duty and what he told himself was a desire to protect her, while in reality his actions had been rooted in jealousy and his own fear of letting himself love her like he truly wanted. He'd been fucked up in the head, seduced by the false familiarity planted in his mind by misinterpreted dreams, and by the time the smoke finally cleared from his vision and he realized what he'd done it was already too late.

There had been no forwarding address. That actually gave him hope at first— he thought for sure Vic would go cool off for a few days or a couple weeks and then come back. Back to the department, but most of all back to him. She would give him hell and he would gladly take it, every last bit, if it meant she'd let him have another chance. He'd asked her to stay all those months ago and she had agreed... surely that still meant something?

Sixteen emotionally draining days passed before Ruby walked into his office needing authorization on a document proving the former employment of Victoria Moretti with the department for her FBI background check. He had been devastated, staring blankly at the page while Ruby wrung her small, soft hands and hovered beside the desk.

"I'm sorry, Walter. I—" She had trailed off, shaking her head sadly.

Walt knew Ruby felt responsible for her role in pushing him toward the now confessed criminal Donna Monaghan, but in the end he could only blame himself for letting it happen. Now he had no idea where Vic was, and it was like a knife to the gut every day wondering whether she left because she stopped caring or if she was just like him and cared so much she simply couldn't deal with it anymore.

It had been six months.

Six months since that day in the alleyway, since the ill-timed van fire and the messy aftermath. Six long months since the last time he'd heard Vic's voice, reacting with thinly veiled hurt and anger as he comforted Donna at the scene. How he longed to hear her speak again, no matter what the tone.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen."

His eyes snapped forward, sure his imagination must be playing tricks on him. At the front of the room, on the other side of rows full of Wyoming's finest sheriffs and police chiefs, stood a stunning, smartly dressed brunette. Her hair might be a different shade, but her face and her voice he would know anywhere. The disbelief escaped his lips with one nearly silent self-directed word.

" _Vic_ _…_ _?_ _"_

* * *

He hadn't been able to find her during the hour long break for lunch. At the end of the day's proceedings, however, he was determined. Walt launched himself out of the uncomfortable chair and bolted for the door she had just slipped through, ignoring the neighboring sheriff's bawdy jibes regarding his eagerness.

If Vic had noticed him in the crowded room, she hadn't shown it. That would probably work in his favor at the moment, although he knew she was observant and it certainly felt like she was running away from him even if that wasn't the truth. He caught sight of one booted foot— clad in a sophisticated black riding boot in lieu of the worn ropers he was used to— as she rounded the corner.

"Vic? Vic, wait up!"

Turning the corner, he nearly barreled right into her. Vic stood stock still and wide-eyed in the middle of the hallway, and right then he knew that she really hadn't realized he was there. They stared at each other, and he felt his longing for her swell near to bursting straight out of his chest. Vic seemed to catch herself, shaking her head and giving him a cursory once over— presumably he looked a bit unusual with his uniform shirt and no hat.

"Walt? What the hell are you doing here?"

Shifting his weight Walt blinked as her familiar perfume reached his nostrils, oddly reassuring in the face of her altered appearance. "Apparently I need training— go figure. You sure bolted out of there in a hurry," he observed, trying out a small smile.

Vic cringed and raised an eyebrow. "I've been teaching a lot of these seminars. Had to learn the hard way that hanging around to take questions at the end gets me nothing but dinner invitations from skeazeballs who want to bang the instructor."

He looked down at his feet, placing his hands on his hips to shore up his confidence. "How about one from me instead?"

A look of pain flashed swiftly across her face. "Why should I expect you to be any different from the rest?"

Frowning, Walt bit the inside of his lip. He had probably deserved that. Hell, he definitely had. But maybe, if he tried a different tack…

"Why did you change your hair? I— It's so different, but it's good," he bumbled, trying to focus and hold eye contact. "It looks good."

"Yeah, well? I was getting kind of sick of being just another blonde."

Seems they were still locked in the cycle of trying to hurt each other. He wanted it to stop. He reached out, fingers lightly grasping her wrist beneath the sleeve of her unbuttoned tailored black blazer. "Vic, please—"

"Sorry but I've gotta go."

Her dark ponytail whipped to the side as she snatched her hand away, and Walt found himself paralyzed as she stalked down the corridor and out of view. It was almost worse than not knowing, to get so close and still lack the courage or the capacity to make things right…

Walt needed a drink.

* * *

One drink had turned into several. Maybe even more than that. What was more than several? Many? Lots? In any case Walt had lost count sometime shortly after his new acquaintance from Converse County dropped by the bar to remind him he'd never had a chance at wooing one of the FBI's finest. Another whiskey had been placed beside him with a hearty shoulder pat and a reminder that "Us good old boys should just stick to what we know."

He didn't know a damn thing about women, of that he was sure. Especially not Vic, and he was filled with a deep sense of dread that they would both leave this hotel after the conference and he would never see or hear from her again. Could he accept that? Did he have the guts to try and change it? He'd certainly had enough bourbon to embolden him, but he had his doubts that booze muscles would get him very far with an already pissed-off Vic.

Then again, what did he have to lose?

* * *

" _He says he won_ _'_ _t leave unless you come down._ _"_

" _And how is this my problem?_ _"_

" _You say that like it should be mine! I_ _cut him off but he_ _'_ _s not budging._ _"_

" _Don_ _'_ _t you have a manager you can call for this shit?_ _"_

" _Went off duty at 10. Nobody but a night auditor on site until 6am. Please? He isn_ _'_ _t too rowdy but he_ _'_ _s upsetting some of the other guests._ _"_

" _Really? Aren_ _'_ _t half of your other_ _'_ _guests_ _'_ _cops too? Why don_ _'_ _t you have those motherfuckers deal with him?_

" _Have you seen some of these guys? I doubt they could take him even if they weren_ _'_ _t half in the bag._ _"_

" _Fine. But you are going to owe me, and don_ _'_ _t think I won_ _'_ _t figure out a way to collect._ _"_

* * *

Walt had played it up a little, sure that the bartender would cut him off if he acted a bit belligerent, and now he was obediently sitting in a chair next to the fireplace waiting for her to come down.

He was reminded of a time that seemed so long ago where she'd retrieved him from the Red Pony on a similarly semi-drunken occasion. He'd questioned his own motivations back then. Vic had still been married, and Walt had been ashamed of the thrill he got out of the fact that she would leave her husband's arms just because he'd said he needed her. Had he done that again without realizing, when he asked her to stay? Had he called her to him and then kept her at arm's length out of simple fear?

"Are you seriously pulling this shit on me, Walt?"

She looked more like the old Vic, in a black tank top and jeans. The darker hair, now pulled into a sloppy ponytail, was still a bit jarring, but he couldn't deny the fact that her appearance was even more pleasing to him in his slightly inebriated state.

"Vic. Thanks for coming down."

Crossing her arms, she ignored his offering of gratitude. "Let's make this snappy. You got your room key?"

"Think so. Was hoping you might talk to me."

"Why would I want to do a thing like that? Because our last conversation was so much fun?"

The thought of what he'd said in that alleyway caused a lump to form in his throat, her targeted admissions concerning her relationship with Eamonn still burning in the pit of his stomach. He stood, facing her, absently tugging at the material of his itchy tan uniform shirt. "I was wrong about a lot of things, Vic. I think we both were."

"Oh really? And which _things_ were I wrong about? The part where I found out you never gave a damn about me after all? That message seemed pretty clear cut."

His memories swam in a soup of alcohol and regret as he watched her eyes fill. How had he ever forced himself to say those things? He was so in love with her then, and he knew he still was now no matter how deep he'd tried to bury it. "That isn't true. Please— let me make it right."

"Make it _right?_ " She released a dark chuckle. "I already made it right, Walt. I left. I moved on. Wasn't that what you wanted?"

"No," He took a step toward her, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wanted you to stay, I told you that."

"And then you cut me out of your life! You might as well have left me in that alleyway with the rest of the fucking trash!" Her raised voice and swearing seemed to attract the attention of the beleaguered bartender, along with an older couple and the seemingly ever-present and now deeply interested sheriff of Converse County.

"That wasn't what I—"

"Bullshit!"

The bartender skirted around by the edge of the fireplace and insinuated himself between them. "I'm sorry but I'll have to ask you both to leave if—"

Vic turned on her heel and stalked toward the exit. "You don't need to tell me twice!"

Following in her wake, Walt jogged behind her as she headed for the bank of elevators. The area was deserted, and her button mashing yielded immediate results. She entered the elevator and he saw her try to order the doors shut before he could follow, but she wasn't quick enough. He made it in, leaving them alone in the elevator and on their way to the fourth floor.

"I'm on four, too."

"Great," her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Will you just listen to me for five minutes? That's all I ask."

"Your drunk ass has got from now until I get to my room. You try following me in there and I'll call security."

"I'm not drunk. Well, not really…"

"Whatever."

He stared at her. She was leaned against the back of the elevator, posture closed off and eyes averted. How had it ever come to this? He considered all the things he needed to tell her as the elevator dinged open.

Vic's eyes suddenly met his. "Better hurry the hell up if you've got something to say."

She walked quickly and he matched her stride, not caring that one half of his shirt had come untucked along the way. Reaching what appeared to be her door, she slid the keycard out of her pocket and inserted it into the mechanism.

The light flashed red.

"Shit…"

She tried it again, with the same result. She jiggled the door handle, rapidly pulling the keycard up and sliding it back down. The more agitated she became, the less cooperation she received from the door.

Walt knew this was his last chance. Propping one hand on the door frame, he leaned in. Gently stilling Vic's smaller hands with his remaining free one, he confiscated the plastic card. Slowly and carefully, he lined the card up and dropped it into the slot.

The door clicked as the light turned green.

Pressing slightly nearer, Walt put the key back in Vic's hand, fingers brushing. The contact lingered as she turned into him, raising her face with a stunned and cautiously open expression. There was one thing he could say to her that encompassed all the rest, and he knew he could accomplish it with three gruff words.

"I love you."

One teardrop fell from her eye as she swayed against him, her arms winding around his neck. He brushed the tear away with his thumb, cradling her face and pressing his forehead against hers. They stayed just like that for a long moment, feeling the renewed connection as it surged through their veins. Then Vic shifted, tilting her head, lips lightly brushing Walt's in invitation. He captured them eagerly, putting all the rest of his words into that long-awaited kiss.

* * *

She had his shirt half unbuttoned before he'd even managed to kick the door shut. The kissing had quickly become a bit too heated for the hotel hallway, and they both managed to remember that they were standing outside the door to a comfortable and entirely private area. Walt released Vic's hair from its ponytail, threading his fingers through the soft strands as she yanked at the stubborn twill material.

"Why are you dressed like this anyway," she asked breathlessly. "You've never been much for the uniform." There was a small ripping sound as the last of Walt's buttons pinged across the room.

"Because the mayor is an asshole." Once he was divested Walt ran his hands from Vic's shoulders down her torso, snaking them around and briefly dipping curious fingers into the back pockets of her jeans as he pulled her against him.

Vic groaned, stroking her palms along his ribs and onto his back. "Did you just curse? Are you sure you aren't drunk?"

"I'm sure. Oh, fuck—"

She had already wrestled his pants open, and Walt might admit to feeling a little drunk and dizzy as Vic pushed him onto the down-comforter encased bed. He helped her yank her shirt off when she crawled on top of him, and his arms wound around her as their hips rocked together in an ancient rhythm.

"Walt," she whispered it against his earlobe, digging her fingers into his chest muscles as he hurriedly pushed the jeans and underwear off her hips. Her skin was soft and smooth under his hands, the whole scene almost dreamlike as she dragged her lips down the line of his throat. One of Walt's legs was still inside his jeans and Vic's bra remained in place as they made the final connection, Vic moaning into his mouth as his fingers splayed over her waist.

From there it was hard, hot, and fast. Walt's need for her translated easily to physical expressions, and her hunger for him seemed to match it. Watching and worshipping as she rode herself to climax on top of him was such an arousing experience that Walt joined her with a scant few deep, grinding thrusts after rolling her beneath him.

Now his face was buried in her neck as they held each other tightly, entirely naked and intertwined beneath the down comforter. Vic released a contented humming noise, stroking the hair behind his ear, and he knew now that they'd made it here he could never let her go.

"Will you come back?"

Her fingers traced patterns on his shoulder and bicep, and he could feel the thoughtful nature of her touch. "I don't know, Walt. I'm not sure it would be the best thing for either of us."

"I can't lose you again. I won't survive it."

She shifted, rolling to the side and propping her head up so that her face hovered just above his. A few strands of dark hair tickled his cheek as she bent down to kiss him, feather light. "You won't. But this job… I only just started and they want me to travel a lot."

Brushing the hair away, he traced his fingers over one delicate collarbone. "They can replace you. I can't."

A flicker of sadness on her face. "You tried."

He tilted her chin, maintaining eye contact. "That's not what I was doing. It was all wrong, but even then I knew nobody could ever take your place. I made some really bad choices and I'm sorry- you could never know how much."

Kissing his temple just beside the edge of his eyebrow, she exhaled. "I'm sorry, too. We both fucked up."

"Yep."

"We'll talk about it?"

"All of it."

"But not tonight."

Vic slid on top of him, the warm softness of her chest pressing against his own. He wrapped his arm around her back, steadying, fingers fanned out at the junction of her shoulder blades. She nibbled the edge of his jaw just beneath his ear, and a growl erupted from his chest.

"No, not tonight."

* * *

That's all she wrote! Well, all I wrote, if you want to be picky about it. Once again, a very happy birthday to the one and only H! Drop me a review with your thoughts, and I'll make sure you get a slice of the birthday cake... ;)


End file.
